


To die by your side (Is such a heavenly way to die)

by juggydunes



Series: I'm half doomed (you're semi-sweet) [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggydunes/pseuds/juggydunes
Summary: "Every person has two dates on their wrist. One is when they die and the other is when they find their soulmate. What happens if both dates are the same?"





	To die by your side (Is such a heavenly way to die)

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this first in tumblr but decided to move it here too...  
> I'm going to be honest... I thought of this as a one-shot. Not really thinking any more of this world or that people would react like they did, but as I am moving this to Ao3... I might as well do a couple more chapters as part of the series :)  
> Not sure when or how many, possibly soon. Surely soon. Soon.  
> You can yell at me on tumblr (same username)
> 
> PS: Unbeta'd. Any mistakes are mine.

Jughead watches the city skyline from the fire escape stairs of his apartment, the smoke from his cigarette blending in with the scenery. He brings it to his mouth, taking a slow drag, enjoying the bitter taste it leaves on his tongue.

He catches sight of the numbers on his right wrist, not really needing to read them to know what they say.

**3/15/2026**

**3/15/2026**

Everyone on the age thirteen wakes up on their birthday with a brand new set of dates on their wrist, the first signaling the day you meet your soulmate and the second indicating the day you die. A little too dramatic and boring, in Jughead’s opinion, knowing when you meet your end definitely changed a person’s behavior… but he might be biased, bitter or both because on the morning of his thirteenth birthday he found out he would die the day he met his soulmate.

Funny, hilarious even. _Of course_ , nothing in his life could ever be simple or easy. No, Jughead Jones and the easy way were complete strangers to each other. It wasn’t easy when his father got passed out drunk every day, it wasn’t easy when his mother had finally had enough, choosing to ran away with Jellybean… and it certainly hadn’t been easy when his father got locked up in jail for covering a murder.

So, when his thirteenth birthday came around, he was excited if not a little wary. Maybe something would turn out right for him. Jughead remembers with clarity the way his heart stopped inside his chest at the numbers, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands because his eyes must be seeing wrong, this _had_ to be a mistake.

The lead weight right on his sternum had made it difficult to breathe as he let his wrist drift to the bed again. It made no noise but Jughead could still feel its phantom echoes on the now empty cavern of his heart.

The world simply didn’t want him to be happy, it seemed. Happy was _uncharted_. A town from which he’d been exiled, doomed to be forever wandering its edges but never really become a resident.

So, after days and weeks of brooding, Jughead decided to make something with the remaining years he had. He turned all his emotions onto his writing, the words being the only thing keeping him anchored to the real world. People came and went, but words remained a constant.

That’s how two years ago found him staring at his book, proudly sitting on the bookstore’s shelf next to other best-sellers. A genuine smile on his face, a flicker of happiness. _Well, at least I’ve made a little mark in history._

His next breath comes out shaky against his will, he knew this day was coming, feeling like this was useless. He had everything ready, all the paperwork indicating that her sister would get everything he ever owned. Detailed instructions about how to proceed with his work were written on the draft of his next book series he had already written, furiously typing into his beaten up laptop, feeling the countdown on his wrist mocking him at every beat.

A part of the profits from his work would go to Fred and Archie Andrews. Jughead doesn’t really speak to Archie anymore, figuring it was best to just save him the trouble of dealing with a dead best friend at the age of 27 years old, but he would never forget how the Andrews gave him solace when he was so lost.

 

Jughead stays there, looking at the sleeping city that is so completely unaware of the tear that rolls down his face, his last goodbye, the last tear he would shed.

A part of him feels at peace because it all meant he wouldn’t feel hollow anymore, he would not have to wake up and go through the motions of it all, Jughead would just… finally rest. The struggle would be no more.

It’s funny, he thinks watching the sunrise, how much time one could spend talking or writing about it but usually not taking the time to actually witness it. The sky seems to be putting on a show just for him today, as if it’s bidding him goodbye, filled with deep purples, blues and the shade of yellow-orange the sun brings.

He spent a lot of time thinking about what he could do with this day. Considered not going out at all, or just wander through the city… but now that it is here, he’s not sure how to react to his impending destiny. Luckily for Jughead, the roar of his stomach makes the decision for him. He changes into his favorite clothes, a small comfort, but the beanie stays on the box meant for his sister.

The streets look the same. Logically, Jughead didn’t expect anything to change once he died, but he can still feel the resentment towards these clueless people that are just going to keep on living. He scoffs at the sudden bitterness of his thoughts.

He makes his way to this little cafe near his apartment, wanting the taste of their coffee and pancakes for at least one more time. Maybe even get a milkshake.

Jughead people-watches like he usually does as he waits for the traffic lights to turn red again. Thinking back on this moment he will later realize that if he hadn’t been people-watching, he might’ve not seen anything at all.

A little girl, big eyes and brown curly hair, is running. A big smile on her face, too lost in the innocence of the game to realize the light is still green and there’s a car approaching quickly.

“Caroline!” a woman shouts from the sidewalk, eyes wide in horror and the car keeps moving, honking.

If time had been passing slowly all day for Jughead, right now it feels as if it has finally stopped. He doesn’t understand exactly what is going on, but he feels himself sprinting across the street towards the girl before his mind can react. He reaches her, pushing her somewhat roughly out of the way, watching as the little girl falls backwards with a shocked expression, her mother screaming on the background.

Jughead had always been curious about _how_ exactly he would die, if he was honest, and he can’t help but to think about how ironic it is that after knowing this day would come, it still catches him by surprise when the car slams into him.

* * *

His chest is on fire and he cannot breathe properly, flashes of faces come and go along the sounds of screaming and sirens. Jughead can barely distinguish words as his body is being pulled into an ambulance, or at least that’s what he thinks they’re doing.

The sound of doors closing and the bumps of the road that make him groan with every harsh movement, the wet sounds of his breathing in the small space. He vaguely notices he’s shivering even if he’s not cold, instead, he feels like he’s burning up from inside out.

Jughead hates the infinite struggle, he wishes he could just die and be done with it. He vaguely wonders why he never considered throwing himself off someplace high. Each difficult breath makes him want to scoff, remembering him of the character he wrote that gets hit by a car. If he has a chance to re-write it, he would because the agony is highly inaccurate to the simple pain he had inflicted. _He should’ve George R. R. Martin the motherfucker._

The sudden movement of people lowering the stretcher to the ground, then forward, makes him cough and whimper a little at the pain that causes. In a haze, he’s able to open his eyes for a few seconds, the pristine white of the ceiling and its lights blinding, a flash of blonde hair that catches his attention before he’s unable to keep his eyes open anymore.

It feels like he just blinked but he’s under a blue ceiling now, the lights look closer and a constant beeping noise is making his head hurt badly. He distantly feels his body being moved from one stretcher to a firmer surface. His body feels numb, the wrong kind where you _know_ you should be feeling something instead of nothingness.

His head moves to the side just before a person moves closer to him and even though her face is mostly covered by a surgical mask…

He _knows._

Jughead would like to think that if he ever saw her without all the procedure stuff, he would still be captivated by her big green eyes. They’re filled with life in a way his never were. Shining upon him with an intensity that would leave him breathless if he wasn’t already struggling to breathe. 

Her hand finds his way to his forehead, pushing the matted hair back. 

“You’re going to be alright.” she says. 

Jughead closes his eyes for a second, making tears fall across his temples. Looking back at her, he thinks… _I could see myself loving a person with such kind eyes._ The thought makes a weird sob sound escape him as he internally curses every deity that participated in putting something so pure in front of him only to tear it away. Only to tear _him_ away. 

He wants to tell her something, anything, but he’s too weak. He wants to tell her… 

_I wish I had time to fall in love with you._

_I wish I could’ve seen your face just one time._

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you were destined to see your soulmate die but damn am I glad you’re here and that I won’t die alone._

_You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen._

_You look like loving you would be the easiest thing to do._

_I wish we had more time._

He thinks maybe his eyes must be telling her all these thoughts because she frowns and shakes her head a little. 

“No. You’ll be fine.” She tells him, voice firm, her eyes leave him to watch at the monitors next to him for a second. 

He smiles at her in reassurance, or at least he tries to. He wants to tell her it’s okay, he’s ready for this… he has to. 

Jughead manages to looks at her, fighting his heavy eyelids, for a few seconds more before darkness claims him. 

He doesn’t get to hear the sentencing long beeping sound.

 

* * *

_Heaven is shit._

At least that’s what he thinks, because his body hurts like never before and his brain feels like it’s about to burst out of his skull. Groaning, he tries to move but before he can get too far he feels two small hands on his shoulders, pushing back. 

“No, no, don’t get up.” 

His opens his eyes at the sound. There, looking down at him is the most beautiful human being he’s ever seen. Blonde hair, peach lips stretched into a small smile and the green eyes he remembers, full of emotions he can’t decipher. She looks like everything he could ever need. 

“Hi” she says, voice only above a whisper. He’s suddenly aware of the way her hand surrounds his at his side, the contact anchoring him. 

“Am I dead?” he asks, frowning in confusion, voice hoarse. If he could see her so clearly… maybe heaven wasn’t so bad. A sound between a laugh and a cry escapes her lips. 

“You…” She begins, but pauses, seemingly to gather strength. “Technically, you did die. Your heart stopped beating… twice. But we managed to bring you back. You’re still in intensive care for a while just to make sure everything is really okay. You have a few broken ribs, a punctured lung and a fracture on your left leg.” 

She says, matter-of-factly, as her eyes fill with tears. Jughead tightens his hand around her fingers a little, a spark of something flowing through their veins that makes her gasp. He’s alive and she’s here. It leaves him shocked, all he can do is follow her with his eyes as she fidgets a little, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers twitch with the desire to do the same. 

“You really scared me back there, Forsythe.” She tells him softly and he internally winces at the name. 

“Jughead.” He finally tells her. She tilts her head to the side in confusion. “People call me Jughead. Forsythe is my father.” he explains. 

The most gorgeous smile appears on her face, a little amused. _God, she’s so beautiful…_  

“Well, Jughead… nice to meet you. I’m Betty Cooper, I kinda saved your life.” She says and he can already feel the dopey grin paint his face.

_Little did she know just how right she was._


End file.
